Directed by Wim Wenders, the Oscar-nominated movie Perfect Days could have benefited from diving deeper into the past of its protagonist—a quiet and diligent sanitation worker in Tokyo—but the movie delivers timely messages for our warp speed world.
There are many other jobs that are more glamorous and appealing than cleaning toilets. Elementary school students tend not to throw their hands into the air and shout “toilet cleaner!” when asked what they want to be when they grow up.
Life, of course, becomes a lot more complicated as those years of spelling tests and watercolor painting kits recede into the past. Things happen. Options and career paths dwindle in number. Sometimes you have to take what you can get.
Nevertheless, finding yourself in less than ideal circumstances need not spell disaster, let alone failure. Providing for a family, contributing to society, getting back on one’s feet… When you can consciously and clearly articulate reasons for carrying out a given job, the act of work can feel much, much different.
Perfect Days is a contemplative film about meaning and perspective, among other things. It follows the daily routines of Hirayama, a middle-aged, dark-haired, mustached man who cleans toilets in the parks of Tokyo. While others might recoil at such a job, Hirayama seems to take tremendous pride in doing a thankless task with unflagging excellence. In between cleaning dirty stalls and picking up trash, he enjoys simple lunches in the park.
His personal life is no more glamorous. He washes himself at the same bathhouse, eats meals from the same restaurant, reads used books, and keeps his social circle to a minimum (though he’s certainly not adverse to handing out friendly smiles and kind gestures).
When it comes to technology, Hirayama is also a simple soul. He listens to music on cherished cassettes, not Spotify. He takes pictures of trees (a fascination for him) using an analog camera rather than the latest and greatest smartphone. His morning caffeine is delivered via a vending machine. He wakes, he works. Sometimes he goes out. For the film’s two-hour runtime, this is the man at the center.
As you might have guessed, then, Perfect Days is hardly a movie bursting with plot. It doesn’t contain much dialogue, either, including from the mouth of its protagonist. Wenders’ film is slow-moving and sparse.
In the relatively few scenes where Hirayama’s subdued existence is shaken, it’s because of the appearance of just two characters. One is a young man named Takashi, Hirayama’s skin-deep and nonchalant co-worker. The menial job he holds is not one that he wants, so why bother to do it properly, or even show up on time? His character is an obvious foil to that of his older and exponentially more diligent co-worker. The other source of drama comes when Hirayama’s niece, Niko, unexpectedly arrives, seeking reprieve from a strained relationship with her mother.
It’s with the appearance of the latter, a little under two thirds into the film, that a slight unveiling of Hirayama’s otherwise unknown past is divulged to the audience. “Slight” being the operative word. It’s as if a closed curtain has been pulled back a mere half centimeter.
Perfect Days, despite its many feel-good moments and reminders about the value of decluttering the superficial from one’s life, feels at times a bit lacking in substance itself.
While there can be great effect in keeping much of a character’s past in the dark, when viewers are given so few concrete details to go on, that effect is flattened. Wenders makes it clear that Hirayama’s life was not always as it is now, yet offers only the most minimal of hints about what actually produced the change. It feels almost pointless to even guess. And with the process of Hirayama’s change virtually off limits to the viewer, it makes his inclination to engage with the simple aspects of life less profound.
Consider a wealthy person who spends lavishly and then one day decides to become unbendingly frugal. No splurging allowed; not at a penny shall be wasted. Would we say of that person that he or she has actually learned anything deep and meaningful about the role of money? Has the pendulum of extreme behavior not simply swung in the opposite direction?
The point is that not all change is equal. Change that involves nuance, balance, and wading through difficult emotions is far more meaningful (and commendable) than change that lacks those characteristics.
Upon encountering his niece, Hirayama remarks: “My, have you grown.” A comment by his sister later in the film further suggests that Hirayama hasn’t stayed in touch, that there are fractured family relationships, and that his current life is markedly different from his past.
None of that means that Hirayama has settled upon his simple way of life for solely selfish or superficial reasons, or as a way to escape from circumstances he couldn’t handle. But a few more details about the evolution of his character could have gone a long way in giving further credence to the film’s many pertinent messages.
After all, if the values embodied by the film’s humble and enlightened protagonist are so transformational, shouldn’t the audience be given at least a chance to understand how he came to obtain them?
Spectatio 